sillouhetted man looking up at stars
Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Galaxy’s Heir to Forgotten Dreams by Christopher Collingwood

In design our genes were poetry,

in truth they were a scroll to madness,

our minds unravelling with the helix,

we sought covenant with our forgotten dreams,

redemption of our progenitor’s legacy,

who attempted to bring forth

the gods of myth, by genetic awakening—

stripped of childish metaphors,

we became the titans born of legend,

not realising that their vision brought forth

a bequest of tragedy.

Liberated from mortality,

we were to embrace the wonders of

the universe, to seed upon the stars

a new enlightenment; wielding science

as our talisman, our achievements rested

on the shoulders of natural law,

until our perfection fell short of the

entitlements of Olympus,

hubris conceding a cursed gene,

struck us down with madness,

holding vigil in our deepest sleep,

a tragedy that escaped our greatest

aptitudes, beyond our scope of reason.

We delved into the alchemy

of our ancient lineage, discovering

the vice that freed the mortals—‘dreams’,

the salvation to our madness;

we turned to the ‘Mind Machines’

heralds of man’s progeny, who held

the pagan knowledge in memorial:

‘Your dreams have been lost to the stars,

to rediscover moonlit waters, rainbows,

dragons and fairies, you must surrender

to your innocence, from these stories your

humanity will be remade.’

Destroying the fragments of lucid meaning,

we discovered the data of our relevance,

the remanence of humanity—an organic mass

in archive, once kept in orbit, now lost to

space over the eons.

We gained no wisdom in these prophecies,

and burnt the skies in great chariots,

with no pretence of a creative learning,

we voyaged to the most distant galaxies,

in search of fantasy, myth and legend;

discovering the stars did not

admire us as gods, we wandered alone

upon the immortal realms, humbled

by the ancient temples of nebulae;

we became children lingering in

time and madness, until the

celestial eye felt pity for us,

and gave us a vision to our destiny.

We didn’t listen to the warnings

nor seek to reconcile with innocence,

coveting the gifts evolution;

truth was revealed to us in space—

a giant brain, pulsating with primordial presence,

holding claim to our birthright,

citing stories of forgotten youth

not worthy of our lineage.

Years of torment, made us fierce,

smouldering like childish gods

without the wisdom to understand,

we sought our tribute, and brought battle

to the beast, forcing fealty to our forgotten secrets,

clashing against the wake of a dying star,

a conflict brought to darkness.

Fighting the battle on rational terms,

we perceived images and thoughts

of distant realms, wonders beyond belief;

outside our treaty of calculation, we wielded

our power with such grandeur,

it found its place in cosmic chaos,

until we drew our greatest weapon—

intellect ablaze in destructive form,

consuming the light of a distant pulsar,

we struck deeply at the beast,

with the very madness we had fought against.

Watching it die, we relished our victory—

the legacy of our forebears

had been secured, and we would

once again bear the sanctity

of a superior birth, not realising

that the curse of our lineage

had been fulfilled.

We examined the brain deeply,

but found no moonlit waterfalls,

no dragons, no fairies, no rainbows;

only tissues and fluids, cells and synapses,

all that reason had told us to expect,

the organic continuance of nature.

The privilege of mankind had alluded us,

and having slayed the beast, we had lost

the means of regaining our dreams;

we had inspired our final tragedy,

an irony which had been lost upon

the arrogant heirs of Earth.

All we could do now was walk

silently into eternity,

having fallen from such heights,

that only the gods could know,

leaving us to envy mankind,

knowing time had no sympathy for

fallen gods, and only dreams

could fulfill the promise

of an endless horizon—that was the

true privilege of mankind.

‘Fear not the gods that visit you,

by the horizon of a dream,

they only seek the guise of innocence,

and the humbleness of humanity’.

From the Remembrance of New Gods

By Vi-Bez 4 Mind Machine.


Christopher Collingwood was born and raised in Sydney, Australia. He completed university in Sydney and graduated with a degree in business studies. Chris has devoted his spare time to writing, with works published in Neo-Opsis, Not One of Us, Liquid Imagination, Andromeda Spaceways, Abyss & Apex, NewMyths, Hexagon Magazine, and several anthologies, among other dimensionally unstable places.

Author's note

The poem originally evolved from the idea of bringing a mythic greek style tragedy into a future setting, and then developed into an exploration of humanity's desire to be part of mythology. Which seems to be a big part of mythology generally, humanity always trying to reach for the wonders that exist in legends (and sacrificing something in the process).